loein are anither; and whiles he says things aboot the mind o' God, sic
that it's a' I can dee to sit still."

"Weel, father, I dinna believe that I can lo'e him ony the day; sae, wi'
yer leave, I s' be awa to Stanecross afore he comes."

"Gang yer wa's, lassie, and the Lord gang wi' ye, as ance he did wi' them
that gaed to Emmaus."

With her shoes in her hand, the girl was leaving the house when her father
called after her--

"Hoo's folk to ken that I provide for my ain, whan my bairn gangs unshod?
Tak aff yer shune gin ye like when ye're oot o' the toon."

"Are ye sure there's nae hypocrisy aboot sic a fause show, father?" asked
Maggie, laughing, "I maun hide them better!"

As she spoke she put the shoes in the empty bag she carried for the chaff.
"There's a hidin' o' what I hae--no a pretendin' to hae what I haena!--Is'
be hame in guid time for yer tay, father.--I can gang a heap better withoot
them!" she added, as she threw the bag over her shoulder. "I'll put them on
whan I come to the heather," she concluded.

"Ay, ay; gang yer wa's, and lea' me to the wark ye haena the grace to
adverteeze by weirin' o' 't."

Maggie looked in at the window as she passed it on her way, to get a last
sight of her father. The sun was shining into the little bare room, and her
shadow fell upon him as she passed him; but his form lingered clear in the